An Eye for Two
by Riku D
Summary: Some people fight for the very top of the Grand Line. Others try to do damage control over the race to finish. Oliver is neither. The one with the answers, the one with the plans, he's the one who stands in the shadows, tempting those to look at his wares. But business doesn't boom with out the crew. Now, who is willing to work with the blue devil? {Occentric} {Original Crew}


_**Satisfaction can only found through revenge**_

People love telling stories about their adventures, especially how they began. Some might start with a stranger and a proposition of the world beyond. Or some bring a handsome and/or beautiful stranger, ready to whisk the hero off their feet. But most often than not, they start with a knock on the door and a gift of something new.

For Wages Gwendolynn, all she was bestowed upon was a half dead fish and the discovery of how far her patience could last.

It was past 2am. Outside, the townspeople were asleep, resting for the next day in the port town of Pythonic. Gwen always figured it was an unintentional oxymoron. Such a big name for such a small town of 200. 170 years ago, the first settlers of this island had made it home to the Pythonians so there must have been plans for expansion.

Of course, that wasn't ever going to happen, not with the current state of the world. Gwen wasn't an idiot like most that lived there. With the lack of news of change with how the World Government is handling things, there was no way the Pythonians could escape their hermit like state. You live here, you die here and if you are lucky enough, your body might find itself on Gwen's table.

What you would also find that night was the post storm wind blowing through the leaves of the Zoetic Forest tonight. No sounds of animals in the deep tall forest that expanded to the mountains, no human bustling in the streets that bordered the coast of the island. Or at least that would have been the case if it wasn't proven wrong by the loud banging at Gwen's business door.

Peeved, Gwen looked up from her assessment. She never liked being disturbed during her nightly ritual- it dampened the mood. The mornings were filled with people coming in and out, giving no time to sit down and cut a body.

She ignored the knocking and went back to work. It was cold in the morgue, the air smelled of chemicals and a bare hint of blood and bodily gases. The room was spacious, more than enough for Gwen to work with that night. At the back of the room were sinks, cabinets and shelves. On the left was the large rows of morgue refrigerators, only 2 which were filled with bodies. On the right were 2 doorways. One was to her office. The other was to the refrigerated room, used only for unidentified bodies. Behind her was the main entryway for the morgue. Spacious enough to push multiple gurneys in times of crisis.

Even if there seemed to be someone outside, Gwen's hands were occupied. It had only been a few hours since she received the bodies but she was only available now because of the enormous amount of paperwork that went along with them. Gwen held her scalpel firmly and continued to slowly slice the infected flesh at the neck. From what she gathered, the body, young woman of late 20s to early 30s, had been bludgeoned at the head and neck with some sort of rock.. There were still small bits of gravel and rock lodged in the gash which she was preparing to remove.

Gwen looked back at her work tray and scanned the multiple shiny tools, deciding which of the ensemble of utensils at her reach were to be used. Like a pianist bracing to play the first note, her gloved hand hovered over the table. They finally settled on the bipolar forceps.

With her chosen weapon in hand, she reached inside the incision and grasped for the remaining grains. Gwen glared at the body as she did it, still upset at the state it was delivered in.

Usually, she made it clear to the others that it was preferable to have all corpses come to her the moment they are found. It made her job easier as the clean up was usually minimal. However, the ones she was given this afternoon were already decaying. Bodily fluids had been removed a short time ago and it took Gwen awhile to gather up the maggots at all crevices. The body was quite limp when it was given to her meaning that rigor mortis had ended sometime ago.

'_Where did they put the body?! In the sewer?! I've been over this a thousand times! I should put them on this table, see how it feels to be left for rot. Look at the state of this. Its just more work for me, dammit!_' Gwen thought angrily, disgusted at the amount of time it took for them to actually send her the remains. Years of business but still the same results. What happened to good old customer decency?

"Ms. Wages! Ms. Wages! We need your help, please!" Insistent yelling continued at the front door of the building.

Gwen sighed but finally put down the forceps. Taking off her gloves, she strode out through the main entryway that led to the main hallway and went to the reception office at the front of the building.

It was a very small space compared to the rest of the building, with just a simple white marble counter that blocked the waiting room from the rest of the building. A row of metal cabinets stood behind it, next to the entrance way to deeper inside, each one containing documents of deceased patients from the last 15 years. Small aluminum chairs lined up the drabby grey wall with a small black coffee table station in the middle, a pile of magazines and newspapers on top. The only thing that gave remotely any life or color to the office was the worn out pink floor mat that laid right in front of the marble counter with the words "Welcome!" etched with green stitching.

Marching across the room, her boots squeaked each time the soles touched the smooth linoleum floor. Gwen peered through the window next to the door, squinting through the horizontal blinds and into the dark outside.

There were no lamps or lights outside. The only light that could be seen was the glowing from between the blinds and the clear night sky of stars up ahead. Gwen lived farther deep in the Zoetic Forest so all that surrounded her building were the tall cypress and pine trees. From outside, she could make out 2 figures. It appeared as though they were holding something large between them.

"Who's there?" she croaked with a voice that had not been used for quite some time. From what she could remember, it had been a week ago since she last spoke. Even when the boys came to drop off the "newly" deceased, she didn't waste time to give any lip service. Just sign the papers, check on the delivery, and done.

"Hello? Ms. Wages, it's, ah, Yorkshee Donovan. Sorry for disturbing you so late and I know it isn't safe for you to do so, but may we please come in? We have an injured man that needs your assistance." Gwen raised an eyebrow. It made no sense why Donovan was giving her someone alive. Did he lose his mind to old age?

Gwen put her hand to her side, gripping on the metal handle that hung on her waist, although she did not want to use it on Donovan.

Yorkshee Donovan was a local fisherman. A relatively kind and stern man who was one of the few who didn't break down in cold sweat just from standing near her. However, seeing him at this time of day was strange. He was usually due for the sea in a few hours.

Even if reluctant to open the door, Gwen let the men in. As they entered, Gwen noticed that the object they were caring was indeed a human, a rather limp one. Gwen secretly hoped it was a dead one.

Gwen glanced and then glared at the other person beside Donovan, Yorkshee Connor, his son. Had she known Connor was with him, she might have left them outside. Or at least threw the bucket of human fluids at him to get a laugh.

Donovan was a burly man, late 50s with salt and pepper hair. Despite being a bit on the old side, he was well-built, thanks to a lifetime devoted to hunting fish. Connor, on the other hand was a frail and thin man with mousy hair. In the time that she knew him, Connor always looked sickly, as though living was enough to kill him. Gwen wasn't that lucky.

"Why are you giving him to me?" Gwen said flatly, still glaring at Connor. Connor was eyeing her back, clear distrust in his eye. Donovan could feel the fury and lightning between the two and rolled his eyes.

Connor and Gwen were long acquaintances in the worst of ways, ever since she first arrived on the island. Connor bullied her years ago by constantly pulling her hair and getting the town children to gang up on her. Gwen retaliated by throwing rat intestines into his hair, instantly tying the knot for their everlasting feud between the two. At least Gwen got a picture of the moment and has constantly brought the fact up whenever Connor was being an extra dumbass than usual.

"Dr. Tennent is on the other side of the island. Apparently, a large fight broke out near one of the local gangs and there were too many casualties for the doctor over there to manage. From what I gather, there are a few dead too, but the count is still unclear. The doctor left a few hours ago," Donovan explained, his eyes stern "You are the only other professional in the town with medical knowledge."

Connor grunted indignantly, "Are you even sure her type actually knows how to keep people alive. Last time I checked, she smelled more of rotten flesh." He huffed, "Dad, be careful, she might even kill the man." He looked around the reception room and gave a disgusted sniff.

'_Oh I can't wait until I find you on these tables one day. I'll stuff you with rat carcusses._'

Donovan sighed and punched the boy in the head, who shouted in pain.

"What was that for, Dad?! You know how sensitive my head is!"

Gwen snorted. "Oh? Then can you just hit him a bit harder please, Donovan? I'll let you have a free suit and coffin for Connor's funeral as compensation for your lost."

"Eh, I'll consider that offer, but we got someone we need to look at."

"You both. Jackasses," Connor mumbled.

Gwensmirked and pointed towards the door that led deeper into the building. "We need to bring it to another room. There's a medical table there that I can examine the body." Donovan raised an eyebrow.

"Girl, don't talk like he's dead. He's still breathing from what I can see." Gwen waved a hand as she turned.

"Semantics."

Gwen led the way as the men carried the body along behind her. She entered into the room that she had just been in. Knowing the weak constitution of a particular someone and wasn't interested in cleaning the floor again, she hurriedly pushed the dead body into the large freezer. Gwen moved on to pull another table from the freezer and pushed it back to the morgue where she left the men. She ordered both of them to put the body on top of the metal, pleased to know that Connor's showed no sign of enjoying the smell of decomposition.

Sucker.

Gwen looked down, observing the unconscious man. For one thing, he was breathing, even if shallow. He had oddly pale skin, almost a greyish blue. Was it hypothermia? Gwen lifted his wrist, checking his pulse. It was a bit slow, but no obvious evidence for that particular diagnosis.

The man's right eye was swollen, a shade of purple that was steadily getting purple. All over his body were nicks, cuts, and bruises as if he was scrubbed and beaten with a club of sandpaper. Gwen saw on the man's bare chest was a large patch of ripped tissue right at the middle of his torso. Unlike the rest of his bruises and cuts, this one looked old, a scar that seemed too stubborn to ever heal. Gwen frowned. The scar looked oddly unnatural. The edges looked too clean, not rough like one would see from an accident.

If Gwen had to be honest, a lot about the man was odd. The fact that he wasn't even wearing a shirt, but just a large- was it a skirt?- purple article of clothing covering his legs. Then there was his hair. She never seen someone with such long fluid looking hair. It was almost like it was made from oil, but tinted blue. Is it a trend for men to wear their hair long now?

God save her. Before you know it, men will be growing long hair to put into buns. Imagine that.

'What are you? What is making you tick? Oh ventricles, I want to open you up...' It had been awhile since Gwen last felt the itch on her fingers. If it weren't for the company, she would have grabbed a large scalpel and gone in for the hunt. Gwen stood up and started writing down notes of her observation.

"How did you find him? He doesn't look familiar. Is he from the other town ports?"

Donovan scratched his head, almost looking sheepish.

"So, about that…." Connor and Gwen turned their heads to stare at Donovan, looking at him suspiciously.

"Where exactly did you find him?" Gwen asked steely. He looked away, making no eye contact with them. Dread crept up Gwen's spine.

"It's kinda a long story…."

* * *

Despite being his son, Donovan had to agreed that Connor was a fucking idiot.

After 6 years of helping him on the sea, Connor still forgot to bring back the fishing supplies that they could never leave on the boat, lest someone tries to steal it. Usually, Donovan would bring the catch back to the port market while Connor would load up, that was their job. So how the hell did the boy fuck it up? Well, that's what Donovan has been asking himself for too long. Maybe it's because he dropped his son on his head too many times.

Nah.

It was late night when Connor finally realized his stupid mistake. Of course, he had an earful from his father, but there was not much they could have done. So, to punish him, Donovan decided to start their fishing routine a bit earlier than normal. By 5 hours. The look on Connor's face.

So there they were trudging back to the ports, the sound sound of their shoes clacking onto the cobblestone road. The town of Pythonic wasn't a big one, but it was obvious that it still held history in its frameworks. All the buildings were made with pine wood walls and stone slab roofs. Each had their stone figure head design, symbolizing the the family that lived there. When the island was first settled, many decided that where they worked was where they lived, so all the shops and stores were 2 story buildings, with living quarters on the 2 floors. Everyone's lives could be contained into one place. This was probably why the town never tired to expand. It was easy to just keep at one place, even if it meant they were sitting ducks.

The buildings were all attached side by side, saved for the occasional alley. As they walked, the two fishermen couldn't help but feel like the town structures were looming over them, the shadows curving inward to the empty streets.. The only light that broke through the darkness was the single lamp post every few meters. They rarely were in town this late and for good reason. So when the sound of running steps were approaching them louder and louder, Donovan could not help but feel a chill in the already cold air.

Wary of the incomer, they tensed up, glancing around for something to use just incase. Luckily, it was just Dr. Tennent. A portly middle age man with a shiny bald head that burned into everyone's eyes when they look at him. It was a tab bit sad how much he doesn't realize that he's the reason for the partial blindness epidemic.

Dr. Tennent strode towards them with his medical bag in hand and a large brown peacoat in the other, his small feet wobbling with each step.

"AH, good evening Donovan. Can't chat. Gang fight broke out in Finight Town, heavy casualties. Dr. Freckle needs my help. Don't know for how long, but if anyone needs medical attention, send them to Ms. Wages. She'll be some assistance." he looked grim at the thought. "Just…. hope it doesn't come to that. "

Dr. Tennent gave a nod to the 2 of them and went off. Donovan heard Connor made a sound of disgust.

"Who would want to send someone to _her _? It'd be a death sentence," Connor muttered. As he was dragging his feet, he didn't notice the fish nets tailing on the ground. Donovan kicked him hard in the behind.

"Keep moving, numbnut. At least she does her job right." Connor swivelled his head to stare at his father in shock.

"Are you saying I should help those fucking-"

"No, Connor. I'm saying that if you have a job, better do it with your brain. And you know that the Wages never had a choice. Do you think they enjoy it?"

Connor looked away, remembering the rat incident.

"With her, how can you be for sure."

Donovan did not reply, not exactly wanting to admit that there was something strange about Gwen, even with the circumstances. There were times he saw it in her eye, a flicker of excitement at whatever comes through her doors, then, as though she realized she wasn't alone, the flicker disappeared and she went back to her reclusive self.

After 15 minutes of walking, they finally reached the wharf and started setting up the boat for sea. Donovan noticed the sigh of relief on Connor's face when they found all their stuff, safely tucked in the cabin. He then hit the boy in the head when Connor started to grumble about staying up all night.

The sea was still a bit rough from the small storm that occurred a few miles from the island, so they decided to lay low for a while. There was a very low chance that they would be able to catch any fish due to the disturbed waters but the reason they were there was more of a punishment for the younger Yorkshee male than actual gains.

Connor stayed in the cabin to check on the weather, making sure that in a few hours, they were safe to sail. Donovan stayed outside, musing over whatever things that comes to mind when you lived for more than half a century. The skies were so clear, you couldn't even tell there was a storm earlier. Reflected on the calm waters was the moon and stars, shining with a glow that reflected on Donovan's boat. He loved the sea, even if all he ever sailed was a few miles from the cove. The rocking of the waves, the salt in the air, the calming sounds of the wind. Donovan thought about going farther, visiting other islands, sailing different waters. However, there was still much he had to do here and he didn't trust Connor to survive on his own.

At first, he thought it was the waves or maybe his son complaining about not staying at home. Although it sounded human, it did not sound like the young Yorkshee, nor did it sound close. Donovan stood up, craning his ear to listen.

He could barely make it out through the sound of the wind, but it was there, a faint cry in the distance.

"Oi Connor, I'm going to check out that noise. Keep watch." He heard a loud grumble of reluctant agreement from inside. Jumping over the railing and into the sand, the old fisherman started running towards the voice.

As the cries began to grow louder, Donovan started to recognize the large metal fence that stopped him from crossing. He had never been this close to this side of the beach. Considering that it was private property, he never had any interest in risking being caught trespassing. However, the voice was coming from the other side. The fisherman debated whether he should go back for his son. Then again, Connor wasn't the most stealthiest person.

It was then he realized that the voice stopped. Worried, Donovan looked through the fence, squinting to see what lies beyond. There was a silhouette what seemed to be a dock which led inland towards larger shadows, looking to be houses of sorts. Nothing like that of Pythonic

"Ah shit" Donovan recognized the houses and immediately crouched in hopes to be out of sight of anyone who might be looking out. It had been 15 minutes since he left his boat, Connor would be wondering where he is.

The old man furrowed his eyebrows. There was nothing he could do, he tried to tell himself. Whoever, or whatever that sound was, it was beyond his reach and ability. As he turned around to run back, he heard the moans again. This time, he could distinctively heard what they were saying.

"Someone….anyone… help…" Donovan stopped in his tracks. He let out a sigh.

"Goddamn it." WIth a running start, Donovan jumped onto the gate and lobbed over it, landing on the other side on his knee and foot. Risks be damned, he wasn't going to leave someone in need. He began to stealthy run while crouching towards the dock, where the source of the voice was. He began to see signs of wreckage in the sand as he moved along. Was it a shipwreck due to the storm?

'

Reaching to the underside of the dock, Donovan started looking around for the owner of the voice. He noticed an odd bluish blob by on of the dock pillars. He waddled through the water towards the shape. As he got closer, Donovan realized that it was a human. He could see a shaky hand reaching towards him.

"Please help me…" the body begged. Grabbing the hand, Donovan lifted it and threw the body over his shoulders.

"Don't worry, I have you." At that moment, the body went limp. Donotan shook it.

"Hey! Don't black out on me now!" Still, there was no answer.

'Shit. Need to get him to a doctor fast, but the Doc is gone. Who-' The fisherman realized where he needed to go. With that, he ran back to his boat, carrying the mysterious stranger on his back.

* * *

"And that's when we left to go here." Connor stared aghast at his father while Gwen just folded her arms, suddenly feeling much colder than before.

"You didn't tell me you found him at the docks over there!" Connor snapped, his face even more pale than usual. Gwen glance at Connor and noticed that he had his fist clenched tightly. She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

"You should have left him there. What you did was insanely inane. You could have been caught. You could have been the one on this gurney instead. Last time i checked, you were supposed to put the worms on the hook not on your dead body."

Connor roared. He tried to grab her but Donovan quickly hooked his arms under his son's armpit, holding him back. Gwen raised an eyebrow at him, her arms still crossed as she leaned against the counter.

"You shut up! Don't you fucking dare touch my dad, you hear me!" Gwen gave a mock yawn. She was used to threats like Connor's. She cocked her head towards Donovan as she stared at Connor with narrow eyes.

"Don't be an idiot. You would agree to. What your dad did was just base on sheer dumb luck. I'm not here to listen to your accusations when I'm not the one who is at fault here. I only clean the messes you all make for trying to be a hero."

Gwen chuckled sarcastically, "Anyways, I doubt I will be finding you down here any time soon. Last time I checked, you had a whole wardrobe of brown pants for stock." Connor lunged again at her, trying to claw at her face, but Donovan held him securely.

"You fucking BITCH!" Donovan grunted.

"Ms. Wages, I think it's best not to encourage him. I understand what I did was beyond idiocy but I couldn't let someone hurt be alone over there. Just please treat the man and ignore my own actions. Its not a pressing issue here."

Gwen sighed but waved her hand to let him go. Hesitantly, Donovan released his lock on Connor. Connor looked behind him indignantly and turned back to glare at Gwen. She cocked an eyebrow at him.

In an instant, Connor threw a fist at Gwen, just barely stopping at Gwen's face. The air was still, tense. Both young adults stared at each other, edging the other to make the first move. Gwen could feel the sterilizing chemicals tickle her nose. She really wanted to give it an itch. Connor snorted.

"I am not the same guy you thought I was. Unlike you, I can fight back." Donovan stepped a bit closer with his hand on his son's shoulder.

"Connor….back down." Connor gritted his teeth. Anger coursed through his blood as he stared down at Gwen, his vision red.

"No, I'm not going to let this entitled little girl mess with us and the town!"

"Connor…."

"Dad, shut up! You all call me a coward but I'm doing something! I'm proving that we aren't just sitting ducks waiting to be found slaughtered at her door! If we don't do anything about her, she'll just continue cutting our people until there aren't any left to-"

"Connor!"

"What?!" The brunette tried to swivel but finally noticed the metallic glean at his neck.

"I was just trying to warn you to be careful of where you move. Although I may be tired of your yapping, I think I value your head being intact," Donovan said calmly. Gwen smirked as she held the sickle around Connor's neck, its blade curved so close to the skin.

"What you said about being a sitting duck? I do crave some roasted bird meat right about now.," she said with a smile, her pearly whites glint like the weapon she held. Connor reluctantly put his fist down and Donovan looked at Gwen expectantly. She retracted the blade and hooked it back on her back.

Suddenly, they heard shuffling from behind them. The man on the table had sat up, his legs dangling from the edge of the gurney, his hands holding his head. She froze, eyes alert. Gwen pushed passed the men and towards the mystery patient. His breathing was still hagared and he was swaying a bit from where he was sitting.

"Where your head hurt? Do you feel any nausea? How is your chest? Stay still, I need to check your-" Gwen went silent as the man held up a hand, his other covering his own face.

"W-Where am I?" Gwen raised an eyebrow. She didn't expect his voice to sound clear and soft yet it borderline honey. Dangerous. She didn't like it.

"Pythonic Town. We found you on the shores near a shipwreck. Were you alone? Why were you out on the sea during the storm?" The man groaned.

"I can barely remember what happened….. I don't think I was with anyone, just me." Gwen put her hands on her hips.

"Look, you have to give me something. Do you have a name?" The man pulled his face down with his hands, his exhausted eyes peeking between his fingers. Gwen noticed that he was staring at her, but for some reason, it felt...wrong. His eyes were long and narrow, borderline closed. There was only a glint of his vibrant stormy grey irises, but Gwen already knew she did not like them. It was as though he was peeling her skin just by looking at her, reading her.

Yep, she didn't like his eyes.

His eyebrows slowly went up and his eyes wide. He put his hand down and Gwen finally got a better look at his face. His features were sharp, from this straight pointed nose, to his straight narrow cheeks to his pointed chin. Gwen wondered if she touched his skin, would she get cut. She noticed he was giving her a lopsided grin. Gwen narrowed her eyes, she didn't like that smile. It was too wide, his white teeth glistening with intent. An intent Gwen didn't want to involve.

"My name is," the man said, "Oli-" Suddenly, bile shot out of his mouth, hitting the linoleum floor and Gwen's lab coat. She started down her clothes, drenched.

"_FOR THE LOVE OF-_"

* * *

**And thank you for reading the first chapter of "An Eye for Two"! **

**If there are any questions need asking, mistakes need fixing, or critiques need making, go ahead and message me here or on  
**


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